


The Girl Who Was Made From Broken Glass

by astrariumcatcher



Series: Wardens Don't Always Talk About Darkspawn [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: The Last Court
Genre: F/M, Fantasy, Ficlet Collection, Flashbacks, Jealousy, M/M, Magic, Memories, Multi, Non-Linear Narrative, Open Relationships, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:22:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27587401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrariumcatcher/pseuds/astrariumcatcher
Summary: "Memories piece together who we are."Leonie was born in Serault, privy to the secrets of the chateau, and the strange happenings around the town. She became a Warden through an unlikely source, and her loyalties are never clear.These are a collection of her memories.[No Set Update Schedule; In Progress]
Relationships: Female Caron/Marquis of Serault, Marquis of Serault/Original Grey Warden Character (Dragon Age), Marquis of Serault/The Wayward Bard, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Wardens Don't Always Talk About Darkspawn [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2016619
Kudos: 2





	1. The Cat Who Swallowed the Canary

**Author's Note:**

> This work (as well as the companion pieces) are snapshots of memories that have passed, are happening, or will happen. We're "on the outside looking in". This is mostly for fun and practice, and also a way to develop this characters in a different way. But if you are enjoying it, or would ever want to read a longer piece about them, let me know :)

“The Shame’s portrait is at it again… Staring into my soul.”

The Smiling Guildmistress places her hand on top of the railing, peering out to the vast expanses of the chataeu’s courtyard. Today, her hair is adorned in beautiful glass beads, all the work of the guild’s. Proud, she’s always proud to wear their work. Her charm is especially bright. Always smiling, never faltering. That’s part of the look. It was never allowed to go away. Soon there would be crow’s feet to accompany the image. Best not to say it outloud.

But smiling as she might, to Leonie, she was older sister extraordinaire. 

“Stop looking. He is known as the Shame for a reason.” 

She was quick with her reply, forcing the words through another grin. Her fingers up and high, waving at the Dowager walking down below, her trail of servants following behind. 

Leonie huffs, leaning against a column. The portrait still stared at the guests in the hall. Already an hour, and they still were waiting on the Marquise to greet them. As fate would have it, she was indisposed. Somewhere, off where, Leonie did not know where. 

“Guildmistress, pleasure to see you. And you as well, Lady Leonie.”

Her gaze turns to the voice, The Guildmistress, still with her pleasant smile, follows suite. She curtsies at the man, the Marquise’s only child. Half a decade older than him, Leonie could see her sister smile wider. The treatment, the audacity, to be sat outside with no news. Inconsiderate.

“Your Lordship, thank you for taking the time to greet us. Might I be bold, where is Her Grace?”

His nose crinkled at the question, Leonie already smiling, the gears in his head turning. 

The Marquise’s son, Alabastar, was the sort to envy. From his looks to his class. A marvel of perfection, had he not spent his days in the library to avoid sparring sessions. Nothing like his mother, and yet more clever than her. Sharper, astute, he’d be the one to bring change to Serault. It was in the eyes. Just like the Shame’s. The same intensity and drive, there was no doubt to it. Leonie expected the portrait to agree.

“Ah.” The noise left his mouth involuntarily, a dull sound that silences the halls. “Her Grace-” the title leaves his mouth bitterly “- has returned from her hunting trip. Unfortunately, she must rest. A pack of wyverns, as I’m told, are ferocious and dangerous.”

“Ah.” The Guildmistress repeats. “An unfortunate predicament, we wish Her Grace a fortuitous recovery. It seems we should give her that time, and must take our leave.” Another smile, bowing at the passing visitors. Her knuckles were white, Leonie could see, the Guildmistress still had much to learn.


	2. Serault Listens To All Her People

Leonie’s fingers worked at the loose strings of her sparing tunic. It had been days since they were last at the chateau, no news of the Marquise or her status. Rumors had spread around Serault, quick as wildfire.

“What did you expect?” She questioned Alabastar on one of his trips to the square. The question was rhetorical. Nobility and gossip, those two went hand in hand like a criminal and a noose.

“Silence.”

“In Serault? You’re asking for bad omens to come true.”


	3. Inheritance

Serault’s voice is low as she sings a somber sound. Howling wind and pattering of rain accompany her tune. Fitting. Silence was the curse that brought an end to their Marquise. For a moment, all hope was restored, her health regained, her spirit lively. And then, in one fell swoop, she fell ill again. And this time, there were no miracles. Nothing to rejoice about.

Her eyes wander to the stands of the abbey. The Elegant Abbess, her words are sweet, alluring, perfect to accompany Serault.

The Scholar, Alabastar, he refuses to make a sound. There’s a smile playing on his lips. Something dark lurks underneath those thoughts. She finds herself smiling too. Serault aches for change, and he will listen. He always follows her whims.

Address the Seraultine. They will soon listen to their Marquis, who in turn listens to the wind.


	4. In Darkness, A Kiss

“Do his eyes always linger to everyone but me?”

The question was posed as they sat on the edge of the tower window, overlooking the quiet. Serault, her voice lowly and lulled the land to sleep. She did not reach for the twilight. And so, the people rest.

“I don’t see why you’re interested in such a man.”

“I enjoy the way he tells me secrets, in a voice that whispers, only for me. They turn into a weapon that is made for a scholar. He is fickle, just like the winds here. Come and go, rarely staying long enough… Yet, he always returns.”

His eyes are far, a place she cannot reach without delving into her own thoughts. Lovers, they were fickle. Unrequited, and all too temporary… Temporary… Temporary… She can feel the ache. The ache of a wish that instead of temporary, they were everlasting. But wistfulness would not claim her. And she would not let it claim her Marquis.

“He has other lovers.”

“Of course.”

A smile splays across his features, his fingers lingering near hers. And it was then, the moment she returned that smile with a touch, that their lips met.


	5. The Guildmistress' Secret

Hot smells permeate the air. Wax, ashes, fire, heat. They all brought a headache and a mouthful of agony. She sniffs, covering her nose, watching her sister work at the anvil.

“Will it be much longer?” 

The Guildmistress pauses, handing the hammer to the attendant on the side. She rarely works on the glass anymore, her position requiring a different set of skills. Her lips turn downward, shaking her head in disbelief.

“You cannot rush perfection!” She sneers, pulling at Leonie’s sleeve. “You ask for an unbreakable sword, like mine, so this is what I must do.”

“It’s taking a while…”

Again, another sigh. “Glass swords are fragile, but with the right amount of work, and a little bit of enchanting, it can be indestructible. But this takes time, and years. So, patience is all I ask for, little sister. Go play, enjoy your youth, while there is still something to enjoy.”


	6. Tireless Gaze, Loveless Reflection

His expression is unreadable, staring at the reflection in the mirror. Large and imposing, right next to the bed. Most would shy away from such vanity so close to where one sleeps, but the Scholar loves it all. Adds to the pleasure and debauchery, he would say with a knowing look.

She rolls to her side, locking eyes with his reflection. He's beautiful, she decides. Most would agree, pointing out his charm or his carefully kept hair. But she thought it was in his eyes. The way they changed with his emotions, the way they were unlike any other eye. An impossible shade. A secret hidden within. Unreachable.

"How can I help you, lover?

He whispers teasingly, still staring straight ahead. Words like honey, how desirable he was. She aches for him now, a mistake on her part, yet… She creeps up, tracing a line against his ribcage, rewarding her with a gasp.

"Hmm? Oh. Nothing, nothing. I simply enjoy watching."

"So do I." His tone shifts to one of sorrow. "There's something missing, isn't there?"

She cannot answer. In the dark, howling winds outside, the forest called to them. Serault had his answer, She knew what he craved. He would leave to search for it, just like he did every other week.


	7. And The Highwayman Came Riding

Dusty roads, carriage wheels scattering dirt to the windows. When was the last time it had rained? Probably too long. She'd been out… and it was finally time to return to her Serault. 

A thud and she jolts forward, falling into an adjacent seat. Pain blooms in her chest, the carriage jerking back to life before veering into a different direction. She falls against the door, and rolls to the other side. Jerking movement, dizzy head, her hands search for purchase along the open window and she holds tight.

A lull in the motion. Her heart is beating, much too fast for her liking. The chaos, where did it come from? Her feet reach the floor and she pushes out to stand on solid ground. 

Cold metal greets her as she falls to the earth, the world spinning around her. She can see the feet surround her, dirty shoes, dirty clothes.

Blade at her throat, smile on her face. It seems someone doesn't wish to live long.


	8. A Foundation For An Introduction

"Alabastar, dear, look here.”

His eyes, bright, and all too blue, look up from a well-loved novel. A piercing gaze that didn't suit the face of a child. Just like his mother… just like the Shame.

“This is Leonie Barrande, she is to be your sparring partner."

Her name filled the air and he knew, she could tell by the subtle quirk of his lips that he knew all there was to know about the Barrande family. The horrors, the tragedy, the story of how the eldest daughter picked up the pieces. It was a popular tale after all. 

"It is an honor to meet you, your lordship." She's careful now, best not to make the same mistakes her parents did. Look where they ended up… Forgotten… Shunned… Dead. 

Hesitation in the air. His fingers bend a page, and there's a pause in his motions. Then, a smile, well-placed and deceiving. “A pleasure.”


	9. Under The Pretense Of Keeping Love Alive

Many seasons ago she decided that the Wayward Bard was her enemy. There was something about him that made her nose twitch. 

Perhaps it was his knowledge in the Game. All too knowing and cunning. The bard kept the practice alive in their Serault. She would be far removed from the debauchery if only he kept quiet. 

Perhaps it was his flirtatious nature. The way he smiled, so perfectly, to whoever looked his way. Emotions tugged and pulled in just the right way. A vibrant smile, a flash of the teeth. It was all so lovely. No one could resist that sugary-sweet charm.

But perhaps it was neither.

Perhaps it was her… or something she felt that made her despise the man so.

The way he captured the Scholar's heart. Those longing glances and hidden smiles, ones much different then he gave everyone else. She wished to have such a hold on him, alas, her will was not as enticing. They were there as friends. But anything more, anything sweeter, that was not in her cards. She would never have it. That deep love she craved. All that was in her cards were dalliances and empty futures.


End file.
